


No Reason To Run

by sandwich_armada



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwich_armada/pseuds/sandwich_armada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a pair of young lovers elope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Reason To Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lately/gifts).



> Written for lately, on the one-year anniversary of our engagement. Happy Drink A Tiny Bottle Of Wine Outside The Tesco And Then Decide To Get Married Day, darling. ♥
> 
> Mistakes are all my own, please let me know if you catch anything egregious. Thanks to [words_unravel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel) and irl friend Adam for reading this through and making heart-hands at me. Sorry if I gave you cavities.

Nick wakes up to the sound of Harry humming quietly along to the radio over the muffled roar of the motorway. He probably hasn't slept for long, but he can tell that being conscious is going to stick this time - the coffee he had gulped down back in their kitchen, almost too hot to swallow, seems to have finally kicked in. He drifts a little in the half-awake daze he gets when he sleeps in cars, zoning in and out of full consciousness. 

In the driver's seat, Harry starts unconsciously harmonising with Rihanna. Nick smiles, couldn't possibly _not_ smile; Harry must glance over and see, because his hand finds Nick's where it's resting on his thigh.

'Time's it?' mutters Nick, shuffling to sit upright. He takes Harry's hand with him as he stretches awkwardly, both their wrists at odd angles to keep their fingers laced together. Neither of them complains.

'Just about half eight now,' says Harry, thumbing the volume control on the steering wheel. The radio starts to drown out the motorway noise as Gemma's familiar voice takes over from the end of the track. 'We've passed Luton. Traffic was a bit shit for a minute there, but I managed, even though my copilot was sleeping on the job.' 

Nick runs a thumb over the back of Harry's hand, even as he sputters in mock indignation. 'Oh, right, and when you volunteered to drive today and said I could catch up on some sleep en route, what you meant was "you can catch up on some sleep, Nick, but only if I can give you shit about it afterwards, when you wake up all sleepy and bleary-eyed"?'

'Well, yeah. Obviously.' Harry grins, cheeky and unspeakably, stupidly beautiful. Nick's almost grateful Harry's keeping his eyes on the road, because he's pretty sure he'd go blind right now if the full wattage of that smile were directed at him. 

'You're an evil little man, Harry Styles,' Nick says, his heart full to bursting in his chest as he stares unabashedly at Harry's profile. 'I don't know why I'm marrying you.' 

Harry's grin somehow manages to get even bigger. He completely misses his shot at a comeback remark, but neither of them notice. 

 

They stop at Watford Gap services for tea and McDonald's breakfast sandwiches and far too many sweets. The cashier in WHSmith recognises them, eyes going wide with shock before she makes herself play it cool, ringing up their ridiculous pile of Haribo. They both take a picture with her once Harry's paid up; Nick can feel her hand shaking a little in the small of his back as they all smile into her phone camera. 

Harry takes Nick's hand again as they walk back to the Range Rover, and Nick has to breathe through the urge to drop his hand and play it off like a joke, a vestigial spasm of fear that someone might see them. He's still not quite used to not having to hide what they are to each other.

The miles seem to roll by quicker once they hit the M6. Harry waves vaguely in the direction of Wolverhampton as they pass the junction, saying hi to Mr and Mrs Payne aloud as he does. Nick laughs at him, teasing and fond, until Harry flicks him in the thigh, failing to bite back a smile. The sun comes out from behind the clouds, and they both pull sunglasses out from under the pile of sweets in the centre console and put them on. The rolling green fields of England peek out from behind the motorway's steep sides before sinking into hiding again. 

They've passed the junctions for Holmes Chapel, Wigan, and are starting to see signs for Preston when they hear their names on the radio. 

'And of course, all this week you'll have Dev keeping you company in the morning on the Breakfast Show, as our beloved Grimmy, Nick Grimshaw himself, takes a well-deserved holiday with fiancee and One Direction heartthrob Harry Styles. The rumour mill has been churning like crazy lately about when Hazza's finally going to make an honest man out of our Grimmy, but as ever, we here at Radio 1 are the last to be told anything.' 

Nick has to laugh at that. Matt had definitely already RSVP'd for the big wedding reception on Tuesday night - in fact, he'd RSVP'd by sending Nick an enormous text containing nothing but exclamation points and happy, crying emoji. He's always a better liar on air than Nick gives him credit for. 

Harry's chuckling as well - Nick had, of course, immediately shown Harry the text - but Matt is still talking. 'So on the off-chance that our favourite same-sex lovebirds are thinking about getting same-sex married this weekend, this one's for you, lads!'

And the opening notes of Single Ladies starts playing.

Nick thinks that even if they had crashed the car and died in the ensuing three minutes of hysterical laughter and terrible, overenthusiastic car-dancing, he would have died happy. 

 

It starts to rain very slightly as they're passing Kendal. Harry doesn't say anything, just switches on the windshield wipers on with an overly aggressive flick of his fingers, but Nick knows he's mentally cursing the Met Office website for lying to him. 

The engagement had been a mutually-arrived-at decision - well, several long deep-and-meaningfuls dancing around the concept of marriage and family and forever, and one perfect Sunday morning when Harry asked, 'What're we doing today' with his mouth full of breakfast and Nick had looked up at him over the rim of his mug of tea in their sunny kitchen, surrounded by their life together, and said, 'Dunno, think we ought to go ring shopping', finding that actually, after a lifetime of commitment-phobia, when Harry looked up at him with shocked-wide, dizzyingly hopeful eyes, he wasn't scared at all. 

This part, though, the long drive north and what's waiting for them at the end of it, had been entirely Harry's idea. Because Harry, quite aside from being Britain's new favourite out-and-proud poster boy for bisexuality, is a not-so-closeted hopeless romantic. Nick knows that Harry really wants today to be perfect; and beyond that, knows that he will feel absurdly, personally responsible for any part of the day that _isn't_ perfect. Even if it's just the weather being typically, unavoidably lousy. 

Nick reaches over and takes Harry's hand, squeezing gently. He keeps holding on, even when the rain dies away and the sun comes back out in full force. Just because.

 

They pass Carlisle with very little fanfare, and just as Nick's fishing for the last of the Tangfastics, there's the Welcome to Scotland sign. They both cheer ridiculously, and Harry, true to form, butchers the Scots-Gaelic greeting underneath the English words. The sat nav lady interrupts them with directions, and they shush one another to listen to her. 'Shhhh, stop talking and do what the disembodied dominatrix tells you,' says Nick, and Harry shoots him a sarcastic little glare before obediently taking the next exit for Gretna Green. 

The town itself is, as Harry had warned Nick when they'd first talked about this, less romantic looking than a lot of places. It's not the natural beauty of the village that brought them here, Nick knows, but the tradition of the thing. Harry had read an article about the history of young lovers eloping to Gretna Green, triumphing over adversity and disapproval to be together, and he had come home to Nick that night with stars in his eyes. Nick knows that it was this notion of running away together, of doing this just for them, before the headlines inevitably caught up, that Harry had fallen head-over-heels in love with. And Nick, well. He was already in love with Harry, so really, how could they not? 

They pull into the car park and Harry kills the engine; for a long moment neither of them move, sitting in the sudden quiet of the car. Nick feels... indescribable. He can see the rest of the day unfolding before them with a calm, perfect certainty - they'll get out of the car in a minute and go into this incredibly twee Scottish b&b, fix their hair and get changed into their suits in their room (and probably spend a few more minutes than necessary with their clothes off, groping and laughing and kissing), and when they stumble out more-or-less presentable, their handful of guests will have started to arrive. They'll stand up in front of their friends and family and bandmates, their nearest and dearest, and join hands over an old-fashioned blacksmith's anvil (an anvil! Honestly, Nick had protested the anvil pretty hard, but then Harry had talked a lot about history and tradition and being part of a legacy, and then he'd sucked Nick's brain out through his cock while looking up at him with pleading Bambi-eyes, so yes, the anvil is definitely happening), and twenty minutes later the registrar will declare them lawfully wedded spouses. Nick's mum will probably cry, Harry's mum will definitely cry, Gemma and Jane will undoubtedly cry; Aimee will likely not have stopped crying since she woke up this morning, but she'll style it out and refuse to admit it. After, Harry's boys will pull him into a teary-happy One Direction group-hug-puppy-pile, and Nick's crew will swarm him with kisses and cuddles and congratulations, and later they'll all drink some champagne and laugh and say hilarious, wonderfully sappy things about family and love and being one another's home, and once the party breaks up Nick will pull Harry's clothes off and they'll put their hands on each other, familiar and tender and perfectly imperfect in the dark, both of them laughingly refusing to call it 'making love' (when they both know that really, it is), and tomorrow and the next day and all the days after that, they'll get to wake up and be married to each other. 

There are giddy, excited baby butterflies starting to flutter in the depths of his stomach, but Nick's feet are warm and his hands are steady, his thoughts as free from doubt and second-guesses and nerves as they've probably ever been. He feels...

Well mostly, he just feels like he's sitting next to the boy he loves, and that boy is about to become his husband. It's a pretty great feeling, if he's honest.

He and Harry break the moment's stillness at the same time, leaning in for a kiss. Harry's lips are soft and wet and gorgeous as always, and he makes a pleased little noise in his throat when their tongues slide together. Nick curls a hand around Harry's neck, swipes the hinge of his jaw with the pad of his thumb, and Harry licks the roof of Nick's mouth right behind his teeth, sending a line of shivers down Nick's spine. Another kiss, and then one more, and then they sit back. Harry huffs a happy sigh, grabbing his car keys and putting a hand on the door handle.

'You ready to do this thing?' he says, grinning sun-bright and certain, and Nick can't help but grin back at him, wouldn't dream of doing anything else. 

'Yeah,' he says, 'I recon I am.' His grin turning cheeky as he reaches for the passenger door, raising an eyebrow at Harry. 'C'mon then, babe. I like it, and I'm gonna put a ring on it.'

Harry laughs at him, wide open and young and ridiculously in love, and they open the car doors and step out into the sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> For reference: [Gretna Green](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gretna_Green)
> 
> My writing playlist for this fic consisted solely of Marry You by Bruno Mars, We Are Young by fun (from which the title comes), and of course, Single Ladies. Just so you're all aware.
> 
> Set in the not-too-distant future, once same-sex marriage has been legalised in Scotland. It's only a matter of time (she said, looking pointedly at all Parliaments involved). 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This fiction, while based on the public personas of real people, is not intended to assume or assert any kind of truth about the sexualities, relationships, or proclivities of those portrayed herein. It is, in a word, fake.
> 
>  
> 
> If you've found this story by googling yourself, for the love of all things bright and beautiful, backspace the hell out of here. This is Not For You.


End file.
